Grave Goods, a pirates of the caribbean fanfic

Grave Goods

By Asteria

Disclaimer: I own none of the pirates, pseudo-pirates, mystical voodoo-types, British people, or animals, living and otherwise, portrayed and/or mentioned herein. Kat and her team are mine; any resemblance to any previously existing fictional character(s) or real person(s), living and otherwise, is purely coincidental.

Caution: Here there be spoilers

00000

Then: Jack

Captain Jack Sparrow had stared death in the face more times than he cared to count. He had stood on the gallows and felt the floor drop out from under him, felt the rope tighten around his neck and been saved at the last second by a well-thrown sword from the son of an old friend. Captain Jack Sparrow had stared death in the face and always managed to walk away from the encounter, a little wiser and a lot cockier.

Not this time.

This time, as he stared death in the face-- or rather the very large, very toothy, very bad smelling mouth-- he knew that this was one encounter he would not walk away from-- partly because he was on a doomed ship a good mile from shore, and partly because he was Captain Jack Sparrow.

And Captain Jack Sparrow rarely did what anyone expected him to do in any given situation.

He retrieved his hat and set it back where it belonged-- on his head. It was covered in Kraken slime, but that didn't matter much as he was also covered in Kraken slime. He was back together-- hat, gun, sword, compass-- the things that had been close to the only constants in a long and varied pirate career. He grinned as he drew his blade.

"Hello, beastie."

And Captain Jack Sparrow leaped into the Kraken's gaping maw.

00000

Now: Kat

Ocracoke, North Carolina

July 11th, 2006

4:48 am

Dr. Katherine Brody sipped steaming tea from a paper cup as she sat on a bench at the marina and waited for the rest of her team. She was early, but that was no surprise; she was always the most eager to get out on the water in the morning and the most reluctant to pack in at night. In fact, when her old friend Dr. Benjamin Marcus had called her in on this expedition, she had actually squealed with glee and bounced around her office for a while as her assistant Stacy Harper had watched and tried not to fall over laughing.

Kat was an archaeologist and a historian, comfortably employed by the Atlantic Maritime Museum, her specialty being the so-called Golden Age of Piracy in the early 18th century. So she was the logical choice of on-site expert when Ben had gotten permission to explore what was believed to be the wreck of a pirate ship off the Outer Banks. For the past week the team had been boating out to the wreck site at five in the morning and not returning until after nine at night. This was the kind of life Kat lived for.

A dilapidated Jeep peeled into the parking lot and swerved dramatically into a parking space. That would be Steve Saunders, a friend of Ben's from college and the captain of their boat, and his sister and first mate Lydia Myron. Steve and Lydia had grown up on Ocracoke, and though Lydia had moved inland, she had willingly come back to help out her brother and his friend. The fact that she was an RN was also greatly appreciated.

Steve climbed out of the drivers seat and waved to Kat, who left her bench to help load the day's provisions onto Steve's boat, the Coelacanth XII.

They'd just stowed the last of the water when the rest of the team walked in a tired-looking group onto the dock. In the lead was Ben, nursing a thermos of what Kat knew to be ridiculously hot coffee, followed by Stacy, who was stumbling along like a sleepwalker. Lastly came Ben's chosen grad students, Tyler White, Brian Keller and Laura Rand, all leaning on each other. Laura was by far the best diver on the team, having been diving since she was a kid. Brian was the resident artist; he sketched and photographed the small artifacts they brought up and maintained all the underwater camera equipment. Tyler was there for the record keeping. He had almost no enthusiasm and no dive training, but he was the most meticulous note-taker Kat had ever met and he had an eye for detail that was unmatched. The fact that he was an all-around, equal opportunity jerk was charitably overlooked.

Everyone stood on the dock, not quite awake except for Steve, Lydia and Kat, until the alarm on Ben's cell phone went off and startled everyone. Just like every day for the past week.

"Okay, people!" shouted Steve, "Let's get moving! Lots to do today! Breakfast is on the boat!"

Just like every day for the past week.

"Breakfast" was the magic word, and the entire team boarded the Coelacanth XII as Steve and Lydia made ready to shove off. Just like every day for the past week.

Kat had a feeling, though, that today would not be just like every day. Today, something would happen.

00000

Notes: This is my first attempt at a PotC fic. I do have a plot in mind, so never fear. I just… need to go see DMC again so I can make sure I get the "Then" parts right.

A word about the title: This story is called "Grave Goods" because significant portions of it take place in the waters off the Outer Banks, known as the Graveyard of the Atlantic. This will all make sense, I promise.

Please review. I appreciate all feedback.